Zero
by Shelbey
Summary: One by one, countries are going missing without a single trace. No leads, no clues, nothing. But as the kidnapper becomes messier and messier with their actions, it's becoming evident that something sinister is happening to those who've been taken.
1. SPAIN

**SPAIN**

The room was tense and silent. The atmosphere was heavy and dark, and it had been a long time since this many countries willingly sat in the same room together. It was your typical meeting hall; bland walls, stiff chairs and ugly brown carpets. It seemed no matter where you go, there is a sense of normalcy with these things. The only way a person could tell exactly where they were was the set of five flags draped along one wall, the Nordic crosses identical except in color.

Spain turned his gaze from the wall to glance at the far end of the room where the Nordic countries sat, though only numbering in four, and a feeling of unease settled over him. Sweden was obvious, sitting on the far left, his stern face facing out into the room. He was a big man, very tall, and very intimidating, though Spain had never really had more than a few moments contact with him. Sitting beside him and clutching his hand was little Finland, his large violet eyes betraying what he couldn't see in the faces of the others; absolute worry.

Norway and Denmark were sitting to the right of the pair, the former's face stoic as usual, his indigo eyes trained only on Denmark as the larger man spoke to him in a whisper. But Norway's shoulders were tense, his hands balled tightly into fists on the table, and Spain could make out dark bags under his eyes even at this distance away from him. He couldn't help but wonder what was being said to him.

Uncomfortable, he turned his gaze away from the four of them to glance around the room. Many people he knew had shown up today because of the plea from the Nordics, something that didn't happen very often. Spain was sure many of them were simply curious as to what could plague such a tight knit, very powerful group of countries to call a meeting such as this. But the fact that they were here at all spoke wonders. On the left side of the table, juxtaposed directly to the Nordics sat Germany, Prussia, Hungary and Austria, who for once weren't causing a commotion with each other. Spain was glad he wasn't sitting over on that side.

After an empty seat Lithuania and Poland were talking seriously to each other like they were the only two left in the entire room, their voices not carrying at all even in the relatively quiet room. Rounding the corner of the table sat Latvia and Estonia beside him, his eyes trained warily on Russia, who was staring off into the distance in a very strange show of daydreaming. A little farther down sat Japan and China, the two not speaking to each other but neither complaining about the presence of the other either. There was a certain aura of 'sit down and shut up because this isn't about you' resonating about the room that seemed to keep everyone in check.

Around another corner were Belgium and Netherlands, the two quiet but seeming like they wanted to get the meeting underway as soon as possible. Spain sat beside them, a chair empty to his right between himself and Belgium, and he eyed it warily before turning his gaze past himself to see the last guests at the table. France sat to his immediate left, his arm around the shoulders of his pride and joy Seychelles and picking at her hair bow anxiously. Beside her was America and Canada, the former of which was bouncing in his seat to get started, though pointed looks from his brother made him keep his desires to himself. Last was Britain, his hand shaking slightly as he drank his tea, the expression on his face almost giving Spain cause to worry, if he cared that much.

Finland's voice rose cautiously above them, catching Spain's attention from the seat directly beside him that he hadn't realized he'd been staring at morosely for a solid minute. He caught Ludwig's eye from across the room and frowned worriedly, knowing that he was worrying about the same exact thing. "Ah, even though we're short two, Norway wants to start—"

"Mama! Papa! I found them!" A small grimace crossed England's face as Sealand crept into the room, clutching the hands of their last two guests. Italy's face was broken into his constant smile despite the atmosphere in the room, his light auburn hair frazzled from the trip and his curl even more prominent than before. He hugged Sealand and thanked him before taking the seat beside Germany after wrapping the man himself in a hug as well. Sealand walked over to Sweden and Finland and climbed into Sweden's lap, looking out at the room curiously as he did so.

Spain turned from Italy to meet the honeyed brown eyes of Romano and he felt a twinge in his chest at the sight. His face was skewed into its customary scowl and his dark auburn hair was slightly less of a mess than his brother's, but Romano was still obviously a little worse for the wear. But no matter what he was still cute, Spain thought dreamily as the young man grasped the chair that was open taking a seat right beside him. Spain went to greet him, but he noted that Romano was a little pallid and it was noticeable against his olive skin tone. Before he could ask what was wrong, Norway stood and all was silent.

Spain knew little about Norway. Sure he'd heard the stories about northern Europe, about he vikings and plundering all that, but in terms of face to face encounters, he couldn't say he'd had many with the man. He had incredibly fair skin and a lovely face, though Spain felt a little guilty for thinking so as he glanced at Romano for a moment out of the corner of his eyes. Romano quickly glanced away and Spain realized he'd already been staring for quite some time. He felt his heart swell.

"Thank you to everyone who answered," Norway said quietly, but the room was deathly silent and even those near the back were hanging on every word. "We've tried to keep this a private matter because we were unsure of the seriousness of the situation up until recently. Now we've decided that in addition to it being in our best interests, it is quite possibly in your to know." He paused and Spain realized that Norway seemed quite lost, his hands shaking at his side. At the same time, Denmark and Finland reached out and grasped his hands tightly.

"Iceland has been missing for two weeks now," he managed to say after a moment, the knuckled on his hands white where he was grasping his brothers' in a vice like grip. Italy gasped in shock and Estonia looked appalled, his eyes searching out for Finland's to no avail, as he was still focused on Norway. "And, if recent conjecture is to be believed, he may have been forcibly removed against his will." That brought insurmountable tension to the room. Spain felt it deep in his bones, his arms suddenly tight and ready to defend if needed. Southern Italy was no longer under his control, but there will never be a day when the urge to protect Romano would fade.

"What are you saying exactly?" Germany asked cautiously, knowing better than anyone else to remain tactful in a tense, high pressure situation.

Finland spoke up, his voice fearful. "We aren't blaming any of you. Not at all." Spain didn't miss the way Tino's eyes wavered very quickly to Russia and back to the room. He wondered if anyone else besides him were thinking that exact same thing. By the way glances were flickering about the room in that general direction, probably. "We're asking your help to find him. We're worried. Terrified. He's never been gone this long before, not without a call to someone and we've exhausted all our ideas. Please." There was silence as no one raised a voice or an offer to aid, and Spain suddenly felt very small.

He simply didn't have the resources to dedicate to something like this, not to mention the fact that he would probably get scolded by his boss just for coming. But he couldn't help it. It would shame him to not be here, when someone needed help so badly. "Please." Norway's voice sounded again, and Spain turned his gaze back to the front of the room. Denmark was standing behind Norway, his hand on the man's shoulder and his blue eyes desperately unsure of what to do. "He's my little brother, I raised him. If anything's happened to him I'm not sure what I would do. I'm generally not the type, but I am begging you to please consider helping us find him."

The room grew quiet again, and Spain saw Romano gaze out across the table at his little brother, his gaze dark and his amber eyes thoughtful. He raised his hand suddenly. "I'll be helping." Everyone stared at him in surprise, Germany and Italy's jaws dropped in identical expressions of uncertainty. Norway watched him quietly, not surprised nor actually any sort of emotion at all. He nodded, though Spain could read the thanks in his eyes.

"Like anyone as awesome as me can sit this out," Gilbert called loudly, nudging his brother in the ribs and raising his hand with a ridiculous grin on his face. He and Romano shared a gaze that spoke volumes that Spain simply couldn't read and he frowned. Though this meeting for once seemed like it would going to have a peaceful resolution after all. There was a short brush of skin on skin as he glanced down and saw that Romano had placed his hand on the table right beside Spain's, centimeters apart. He ached to grasp that hand, but before he could, another voice rose and a chair was knocked back.

America said, "I feel the same as Prussia! You've got me to help! I am the hero after all!" He slapped Canada on the back hard and reached over to fist bump Romano, who declined the offer with a dangerous glare. America sat back down with a shrug and Spain caught a strange expression on Britain's face, who, for the most part, had been unusually silent for most of the meeting. For a split moment, he saw a rush of emotion flit across Norway's face, but it was gone.

"Thank you," he replied, sitting down and pressing a hand to his chest. Denmark, however, hadn't budged, his eyes trained in the far corner where Russia was sitting, a smile on his face. Spain turned to Romano and for the first time that day he turned back about to say something to Spain. Before he could though, a hand slammed on the table at the front of the room, catching him off guard as everyone turned to face a rather angry faced Denmark, glaring in accusation. Romano pulled his hand back.

Finland and Norway both said in unison, "Denmark, don't." But the man ignored them, his eyes on Russia, the grimace on his face not one to be bargained with at that moment.

"I know it was you, you bastard," Denmark said angrily, his fingers tapping against the table like he wanted to throw it. Latvia and Estonia jumped up and backed away from their seats, worried about being in the line of fire in case he did. Japan scooted his seat over in China, alarmed, and Germany stood up warily, probably to break up anything that happened. And it seemed that something always did.

Russia simply smiled. "Somehow I knew that is where this was going to be leading," he said pleasantly, leaning his elbows on the table as he did so. "But I can assure I have done nothing to Iceland and while I cannot myself aid in helping you find him, I wish you all the best of luck in your search." Norway gripped Denmark by the back of his jacket at hissed something at him, tugging him back into his seat.

"Anyone else you'd like to implicate, Denmark?" France said bitterly, his arms crossed over his chest and crossing his legs.

Britain snapped, "Feeling guilty, frog?" France scoffed angrily and the two fell into a loud argument with America and Canada and Seychelles still seated between them. Germany seemed at a loss as to what to do as Russia began to order Latvia and Estonia around in the corner making them both shake in their boots. Spain's eyes began to droop a little, tired from the long trip north, but he was sure this probably wasn't an appropriate time to be taking a siesta. When he got back to his room he would, though, that was for sure.

Denmark was still shouting obscenities at Russia and Spain caught Romano's eyes, the young man scowling at the room at large in frustration at the entire thing.

A loud bang sounded and the room looked around to see that Sweden had stood up so quickly his chair toppled over, and deposited Sealand gently into Finland's lap. He walked around Norway and grabbed Denmark by the back of the coat, dragging him forcefully from the room and tossing him into the hallway. He merely glared at Britain and France until the two stopped making a single noise, both of their faces skewed in expressions of terror. "G'nna have t' ask ya t' leave," he said with a frown, standing besides where Russia sat with his underlings.

"That is quite all right Sweden, we were just leaving anyway," he said with a laugh, ushering Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania and Poland towards the door. "Good luck finding Iceland, you will be needing it I think." And then he was gone, that cryptic remark sending a shudder down Spain's spine. He would most definitely not like to see that face again anytime soon, that's for sure. France pushed his way past Britain with Seychelles in tow.

"We will be leaving as well," he said angrily, the two exiting the room with as much dignity as they could muster. Many other filed out after that, disgruntled discourse being shared between them all. Norway looked defeated and Denmark had the class to seem apologetic. Soon all that was left was Germany, Prussia, and Italy, Spain and Romano, America and Canada, not counting the four Nordics still seated at the front of the room with Sealand, who throughout it all, remained silent and almost scared.

Romano stood, and the rest of the room watched him. For a moment he seemed unsure of what to say before stammering out, "My offer still stands." He walked away from the room and Spain stood and followed, nodding at the Nordics before chasing him down the hallway. Romano had moved fast, apparently very eager to get out of that meeting, and Spain felt upset that the entire affair had upset him so much.

"Romano!" he called, feeling like an old man all of a sudden. "Slow down!" Romano did and turned to wait until Spain caught up with him, his face completely unfathomable. Something really did get to him, Spain realized, wondering what on earth it could possibly have been. The hallway was deserted, and his friend didn't move to continue on, simply leaned against the wall and glared at his own boots. "What's the matter Romano? You've seemed so out of it all day today!"

Spain tried to be cheerful, but it didn't seem to work. Romano's face didn't change. His customary scowl did not set into place, his eyes didn't flash in irritation at Spain for some reason or other. All he seemed was sad, lost, and unsure. His fingers inched over for a moment towards him, and Spain felt his chest catch slightly as Romano gently placed his hand on Spain's.

"What if this had happened to Veneziano?" he asked quietly, gripping Spain's fingers as if for reassurance, and at that moment everything Spain could have ever thought about how to reassure and comfort was dumped from his mind. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? He closed his eyes and released a sigh, giving Romano a small smile that the man glanced down at, his eyes grazing Spain's mouth for a moment before flickering back up to look in his eyes.

"I would help you find him," he offered, turning his hand slightly to grip Romano's better. "And I wouldn't stop until we did." Romano stared at him for a moment, his mouth just the tiniest bit agape, the two of them silent as they stood in that empty hallway, their hands entwined. Spain had an idea, a brilliant idea, and his smile widened. "Hey, do you want to come sleep in my bed tonight? That used to make you feel better when you were a kid."

Suddenly Romano's eyes did flash in irritation, and he snatched his hand away from Spain's angrily before taking a step back. "I'm not a little kid anymore, you know!" he yelled at him before hurrying down the hallway, the back of his neck beet red and leaving Spain unsure of what exactly he said.


	2. NORWAY

**NORWAY**

"Sometimes, I don't know what to do with you." Norway's words were icy as he spoke them, which is exactly how he intended. He was furious. _Beyond_ furious. Beyond anger and rage and fury and hatred and agony and despair. And yet it seems that his oldest friend, the one person who should be completely behind him in everything, who should help him and care about him and want to see him happy had completely destroyed everything that he was trying to accomplish at that meeting all over a show of testosterone and stupidity. He put a hand against his own face, the soft velvet of his gloves brushing his skin. "You realize what you did, right?"

Denmark was sulking like a child, Norway realized as he stood in Denmark's bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest in a desperate attempt to not beat the complete hell out of the man. His face was looking pointedly at the ground, his hands gripping the sides of the seat of the chair and he refused to even make eye contact with Norway. "I know it was him, Norge," he grumbled, kicking his toe into the carpet in a show of what could have almost been embarrassment. Norway took a deep breath to keep himself calm before leaning over the chair into Denmark's face and staring at him silently. Denmark said nothing, still unable to even meet Norway's eyes.

He shook his head, deciding that yelling wasn't going to get him anywhere, and by this point all the damage was already done. "You could've ruined everything." Denmark finally looked at him, his blue eyes incredibly sad and for a moment Norway felt a twinge of sadness that had nothing to do with his brother. But no, at that moment, he couldn't afford to let anything get in his way. He couldn't let anything knock him off the track of finding Iceland. Nothing at all. "But all is not lost," he added after a moment of being unable to tear his eyes away from Denmark. "Romano, Prussia, America. Not exactly the cream of the crop but they'll do."

Norway turned and started to pace, his heavy black shoes making dull thuds on the carpeted floor. For a moment Denmark didn't reply, his eyebrows furrowed almost in confusion, before asking, "Why are you always like that?" Norway turned to look at him, his eyes slightly narrowed. He had no idea what the man was asking and he tilted his head slightly, waiting for him to continue. "People want to help you, and you're kind of being a dick about it. Romano is kind of an idiot sometimes but he's brave when it counts. Prussia is smarter than people give him credit for. America is persistent and helpful if he needs to be. And you know what?"

"What's that?" Norway was beginning to lose his patience, not that it would show in his voice or face. How dare Denmark talk to him like this? Like he was some sort of child that needed to be explained a simple concept. As if Norway was the one who didn't understand more than anything else at this moment in time the necessity of bonding with other countries to meet a common goal. And if he had to beg, and plead, and bribe, and cheat and steal to gain their help then he would. There was nothing he wouldn't do to get Iceland back.

"They all have brothers too, ya know." Whatever he was expecting Denmark to say, it certainly wasn't that. He dropped his hands, staring at Denmark for a moment in complete and total awe. Romano and Italy. Prussia and Germany. America and Canada. Could that be why? Could that be the reason why they, of all people, volunteered to help with such a thing when no one else would? It was overly sentimental, and yet...

Norway was incredibly shocked that he hadn't seen it before and let himself sit down on Denmark's bed, unsure of what to say. Denmark moved from the chair so he could sit down next to him and put an arm around his waist. "You can be pretty harsh sometimes Norge," he said, pressing a kiss to Norway's cheek with the single most charming smile he had ever had on his face. "You should learn to be a little nicer."

The feeling in his chest was cold, the atmosphere around him was cold, his entire body was distanced and cold. And that was how he liked it. A person could remain cold their entire life and in tact, whole, unscathed. No matter how many battles or how many wars, how much destruction or how much strife, a person could remain whole if they just didn't let themselves feel anything. Norway had Iceland, the one thing in this world he let himself care about more than anything else, a spot of sun in the blizzard in his chest, and he was determined to get him back.

But the lips on his cheek were warm as a breeze on a summer day and the spot where they pressed was left tingling. Denmark smelled like grass and beer and clean sheets, like the outdoors and like home. The arms he placed around Norway's waist were strong, so sure, and he couldn't help but feel almost sorry for them both. He pushed a hand against Denmark's face and shoved him away derisively, saying in his typical monotone, "You're so irritating, Danmark." He just laughed and leaned back on the balls of his hands, wiggling his eyebrows at Norway before letting out a sigh, his face turning serious.

"Back to the search then?" he asked quietly, picking at a thread on his comforter aimlessly. The loss of Iceland had not been easy on any of them, Norway knew. Finland had been an anxious mess more visibly than the rest of them, but he had Sweden to anchor him through all of this, despite the fact that he, too, was shaken. Denmark, despite all his teasing and picking on Iceland, cared very much about his little brother, more than Norway had ever previously anticipated or could have guessed. He had been the first to reach out to help, came all the way from Denmark, traveled with him to Iceland, and the two searched and searched until they were beyond exhaustion.

Norway didn't want to remember those days, the agony and the pain so evident on his face when he was normally able to retain so much control. Denmark had said nothing about it, and yet the way he looked at him now had changed. He supposed when you have to carry someone home after they refused to leave freezing cold temperatures, after that person had not eaten in days and was delirious, covered in dirt and tears, it tended to change your perspective on them. Though he could not bring himself to feel embarrassed. Not even a little bit. Somehow, in front of Denmark, it had been all right.

As for Norway...

He hadn't slept in days, though he did manage to keep himself in better shape than before. He was living on coffee and the hope that even after scouring the island for two weeks his little brother would show up somewhere they hadn't yet checked. Iceland wasn't a large area of land, and yet they were exhausting themselves looking for him. Did it mean he wasn't on the island anymore? Should they expand their search? Norway didn't know. He didn't know what to do anymore, how he could help. Suddenly he felt sick, leaning over and putting his face in his hands, the urge to cry prickling at his eyes and clogging his throat.

Denmark placed a hand on Norway's back, comforting, and he didn't shrug it off like he tended to under normal circumstances. Like he usually wanted to. Right now, he needed this and as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he needed Denmark more than anyone else in the world. Giving in, just this once, Norway leaned to the side and rested his head and shoulders in Denmark's lap, closing his eyes and wondering what else he could do to embarrass himself today. Denmark simply brushed back his hair from his face, carding his fingers through the blonde locks, and humming lightly under his breath a song that Norway could not identify.

"Dan," he said quietly, rolling onto his back so he could look up at the man. Denmark watched him silently and seemed to understand what he was asking when their eyes met. He leaned over and kissed Norway gently on the mouth in such a reassuring fashion that he wasn't quite sure how to react to it. Of all the countries, of all the men and women in the entire world, the one person who could make him feel this way was the biggest idiot on the planet. And was Norway grateful for him right then, for being with him no matter what, no matter how he acted or didn't act, the way he fought and the way he loved.

"Jeg elsker dig," Denmark offered quietly, not for the first time, and Norway turned his face away, unable to say the words back for the thousandth time he'd heard them from the man. But Denmark did not care that the phrase was not returned once again as he held Norway quietly, and the world faded away into night slowly as they lay there. Guilt gnawed at his chest and Norway sat up suddenly, startling Denmark. Denmark's face was unsure, but Norway did not give him a chance to respond before he gripped his shoulders and crushed their mouths together.

Denmark allowed himself to be shoved on his back as Norway straddled his hips, tugging off his tie and unbuttoning his red collared shirt with practiced ease. The pile of clothes on the floor was a tangled mess of black and red and blue, at the very top sat a shining silver hair clip in the shape of a cross and a tiny black garrison cap. Denmark was so warm, the feel of his hands and his chest and his legs wrapping Norway up in a bubble of bliss and contentment that he never felt anywhere else. He knew the right spots to press his mouth and where to trail his fingertips, he knew Norway's body perhaps better than he knew it himself.

He escaped to this place more and more often lately, he mused as Denmark pressed his mouth in fluttering kisses down his neck, biting gently at the skin in a way that made Norway's fingers clench and his held breath escape shakily. But it was the only time Norway ever felt like he was home, in a place that was safe and warm and kind. In a place where he belonged. He'd known it for a long time now, that he belonged with Denmark. It was the kind of certainty that brought a mixture of fear and elation to his heart, and it was something he was unable to admit to himself for the past couple of centuries.

So he allowed himself this, this closeness without attachment, the love without the admission, and being home without the commitment. Because sometimes there was always so much more to lose when you allowed yourself those things, and it was almost never worth it. But Denmark, behind closed doors when there was no one else around but Norway, was kind, Denmark was gentle and sweet and almost too perfect for him to the point of paining Norway. But he would never admit that of course. He couldn't allow himself that sort of happiness because it was always just a breeze away from being gone.

The rest of the night was spent in the throes of passion and in the warm embrace of each other, and Norway couldn't help but pray for the morning to never come.

AN: Since I received this question about Italy/Veneziano and Romano, here is an answer!

I feel like the only person who would really make the distinction between Romano and his brother being Italy Romano and Italy Veneziano would be Romano himself, since most of the characters refer to Veneziano as Italy, despite the fact that Romano is also a part of Italy.


	3. ROMANO

**ROMANO**

It was fucking cold here.

Romano couldn't help but think the obvious as he shook from his head to his toes in his bed the morning after the meeting, staring up at the ceiling. Despite the copious amount of thick blankets, he was still freezing, and hadn't gotten very much sleep last night. Nightmares of losing Veneziano plagued him until the early hours of the morning, and when he finally was able to close his eyes without seeing his brother dead, it was too cold to even think about sleeping.

So he laid there, his eyes aching and his body freezing and wondering if that bastard Spain had gotten anymore sleep than him. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand of his room, noting it was still five in the morning and if he fell asleep now, he could arguably get three or so hours before it was time to meet with the Nordics again today. Though, Romano was sure, the meeting was going to be a lot smaller than the last one.

Gathering up all the blankets from his bed, Romano grimaced and made his way from the room into the equally freezing hallway after tugging on a pair of boxers so he wouldn't walk around someone else's house stark naked. It was funny that even without thinking about it, Romano knew exactly where he was going, and though his face flushed redder and redder with every single step he took, he still found himself outside of Spain's room, arms full of blankets, and shaking in his shorts. Though whether it was from the cold or something else he wasn't quite sure.

Swallowing thickly, Romano decided that the brasher the better was the only option in a time like this, so he gripped the handle and flung the door open without even bothering to knock. The room remained still, and he closed the door behind him without so much of a show, creeping over to the bed in the corner of the room and peeking at the figure in it. Spain, as usual, was dead asleep. He was curled on his side, his dark hair fanned out in a small halo around his face, and the blankets pulled up to his chin.

Romano pressed his lips into a line and looked back towards the door, wondering if it would be better to just go back to his own room and hope for the best. But he was already here, and Spain would most likely not be jostled awake if he were careful, so he bit his lip, threw the blankets on the bed and crawled underneath them, careful to make sure that he and Spain were under the separate set of covers. It was already less cold, he mused, noting the warmth that came from the opposite side of the bed as he continued to gnaw at his lip. He scooted closer until only a few inches separated himself from the Spanish bastard, wondering if now would be a good time to run or if he could keep warm strictly on the heat coming from his cheeks and neck.

He laid down comfortably, trying to ignore the presence of Spain directly beside him, and closed his eyes to sleep.

"Romano?" It only felt like seconds since he had laid down, when he was woken back up by the sound of someone saying his name, quietly, near his ear. He wanted to smile, until he realized who was talking, where he was, what he had done and sat up in shock, wanting to scramble out of the bed and out the door and down the hall and hide forever.

"Ah fuck, Spain, why did you wake me up, damn it?" he growled, though his voice cracked from sleepiness and he was sure his hair was a tousled mess. Damn it, this was a terrible idea. He glared at Spain, who was still curled up under all the covers with only his head poking out, his green eyes round in surprise. Romano's heart fluttered and he wanted to punch himself in the chest, hoping that maybe, eventually, it would stop doing that every time he saw Spain looking so handsome.

He didn't answer as he contemplated Romano's face. Finally, he said, "Are you all right?" For a moment, Romano thought about telling him. Telling him the dreams of Veneziano's face, broken and bloody and pale, dead on the floor. Telling him the dreams of losing his little brother to the unknown dark, to horrors and terrors that he couldn't even possibly begin to fathom. Telling him the dreams of Spain going away to fight those terrors for him, and eventually being swallowed up himself. How he awoke with dried tears on his face, gasping for air, the feeling of losing the two most important people in his life to something the he couldn't even see but was still afraid of.

"I'm fine, bastard," he grumbled, wrapping himself up like a cocoon in the blankets and laying back down on the pillow directly in the middle of the bed, shoving Spain off to one side. But the man did not complain, just leaned on his hand as he watched Romano. "It was cold last night and I figured having a person close by could keep me warm. Veneziano is sharing with that potato bastard so the only other option was you." The smile on Spain's face was ridiculous and goofy, and it just made Romano scowl more.

"Ah Roma, I knew you missed sharing a bed with Boss," he laughed sitting up and stretching his arms and letting the blankets pool at his waist. Romano turned away from the sight as tousled, shirtless, half asleep Spain doing something to more than just his heart.

He called back, his voice muffled by the covers, "You're not my damn boss, idiota. You haven't been my boss in years so why do you still call yourself that? Damn bastard." It pissed him off more than he could ever tell. Spain couldn't let go of the damn past, couldn't stop reminiscing about when he was a little kid. Did he wish Romano was still little when all Romano could think about was getting older? He bit his lip and inwardly sighed, trying to ignore the fact that he could still feel Spain's eyes burning into him. He should have left before Spain even woke up.

Spain did not have a chance to answer before his cell phone rang. He grabbed the rather archaic looking device and frowned at the caller ID before putting it to his ear. "¿Digame?" Spain answered, his voice confused. Romano could barely hear the person on the other end, but they sounded frantic, and they were yelling at Spain so loudly he had to pull the phone away from his ear slightly to avoid going deaf. Romano shook himself out of his blanket cocoon before realizing he was only in his boxers as well, and Spain stared at him with his mouth slightly dropped for a solid five seconds before turning his attention back to the phone. "France, mi amigo, you need to calm down. Where was the last place you saw her? You were just here in Norway, she couldn't have gotten lost that quickly."

Another barrage of screaming and Spain's face depicted the perfect picture of uncertainty and confusion. Romano wanted to slip away, but there was something about the conversation that kept him rooted to the bed. "I'll bring it up to them," he sighed. "See you in a few hours, France." He hung up the phone and stared at the sheets, his eyes hard and his brow furrowed deeply. For a moment, Romano thought he could see lines at the corners of his eyes, but the expression vanished and Spain turned to Romano with smoothed features. "We need to talk to the Nordics."

The meeting room had been assembled quickly after Spain had awoken Finland, the only Nordic that Romano figured was easy to talk to. The table they sat at was smaller than the one previously, with the remained seven countries seated much closer together than they were previously. "So what happened?" Denmark asked, his hands swatted away from resting on the back of Norway's chair by the man occupying it, looking like he obviously didn't have any time for this.

"France called me about an hour ago saying that before he could even leave the country, Seychelles had gone missing. Not a trace of her. She's not answering her cell phone, and all of her belongings were left in their hotel room. He's on his way back here because he thinks that whatever happened to Iceland, may have happened to her." The room was deathly silent, all eyes on Spain including Romano's, who could see the doubt lining every inch of his face. This couldn't have been a coincidence. Something was wrong.

Romano could tell that everyone was thinking the same thing.

Canada was talking in a very fast whisper to America, who didn't seem to be paying attention at all. "Ve, what are we going to do?" Veneziano called to the room, his hand gripping Germany's shirt sleeve tightly. Romano's heart tightened and he felt the urge to take his brother far away from this place and hide him somewhere. But, most likely, where they were was safest. Somewhere they were all together and no one could just pick them off one by one.

"Go to your room while we talk okay?" Finland said quietly to the young boy on his lap, and Sealand seemed like he was going to argue until Sweden gave him one look, effectively silencing him. Grumbling he agreed, walking from the room with his arms crossed over his chest as he went. Finland then turned to Veneziano. "We need to send out word to everyone else about what happened to France and Seychelles. It's not an isolated incident, something serious is going on and there's no time to waste arguing with each other over that."

Norway gave Denmark a pointed glare, and he frowned and turned away to look at Finland. Romano couldn't help but silently agree. They all needed to get along for anything to happen, otherwise this could just escalate worse and of the corner of his eye he saw a very deeply set frown on Spain's face and moved to look at him, his eyebrows curving down into what Romano was sure was an angry looking expression. Somehow that was just his default face, even if he wasn't angry. "What's the matter with you, bastard?" he hissed under his breath.

"I'll go email everyone on my contact list!" America finally spoke up, loudly, seeming as though he was quite pleased with being able to finally do something rather than sit still and listen. Finland jumped from his chair and showed America to where Norway kept his computer, leaving the room once again in uncertain, uncomfortable silence.

Spain met Romano's eyes slowly, and shook his head slightly. "I wish I could help out there, but I really need to get back home. My boss is going to kick my ass already as it is for being gone so long." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and Romano felt a wave of worry wash over him.

"You can't leave, not by yourself, you damn idiot. What if what happened to Seychelles and Iceland happens to you?" Romano demanded, trying desperately to keep his voice down, though he did draw the attention of Germany, Italy and Prussia across the room. He glared at them furiously, wanting them to mind their own damn business as he turned back to Spain. The man had a silly smile on his face as he regarded Romano. "What the fuck is that face for, bastard?"

He just chuckled and said, "Worried about me?"

Romano snapped, "I'm worried about everyone. Not just you." Spain nodded slowly and Romano turned away from him in frustration, his face feeling a little too warm for his liking. There was thudding footsteps suddenly, and the doors to the meeting room burst open as a very windblown France stumbled in, his face a mess of anxiety. Spain stood up quickly and rushed to him, gripping his shoulders tightly and talking to him quietly to where Romano couldn't hear it. Prussia stood and did the same, the two conversing with the hysteric Frenchman to calm him down.

"Tell us what happened," Norway said, interrupting them as he stood up, obviously his patience reaching its end. France's eyes stared about the room, noting the lack of people compared to the day before, and Romano knew he was regretting leaving now that he was in the same situation. The expression on Norway's face sent Spain and Prussia back to their seats, suddenly silent, and Germany's mouth twitched against something he wanted to say. Veneziano whispered in his ear and he nodded.

Romano felt irritation flare up in his chest at the sight, his hateful feelings towards Germany still harbored in his chest. France shook his head, pulling his hair back into a ponytail in what seemed like a show of stalling before wringing his hands out before him. "I am not sure, mon ami. We went to bed last night, and I woke up the next morning to go home and she was no longer in her room. No sign of her, or a struggle. Nothing."

Veneziano's face was pallid and Romano stood from his chair, carefully avoiding Spain's eyes as he made his way purposefully around the table and sat down next to his brother, catching his gaze. "Big brother, this is really scary," he whispered, biting his lip and clutching at his brother's sleeve. Unable to help himself, Romano reached his arms around his brother and pulled him into a tight embrace, ignoring the stares from the rest of the room.

Sometimes they didn't get along, sure. Sometimes he was frustrated with the vapid way his brother could act sometimes, he didn't agree with his friendship with the idiot potato eater. But Veneziano was his brother, and he would never ever let anything happen to him. "Don't worry Veneziano, you're going to be okay. I promise," he said, placing a hand on the back of Veneziano's head and grimacing as he caught Germany's eyes behind him. He glared, but Germany didn't look away, he simply nodded in understanding.

A gasping breath broke the silence, and the room glanced up to see a terrified Finland with America close at his heels, their faces red from the cold and out of breath from running. There was terror on Finland's face, and Sweden was on his feet immediately, scaring Romano from how sudden and almost instinctual the movement was. Norway and Denmark responded almost as quickly, and the rest of the room stared.

Finland cried, his voice hoarse, tears running down his cheeks in desperation, "Have any of you seen Sealand?"


	4. SEALAND

**SEALAND**

Finland had told him to be careful outside of the house, but he wasn't going far. He had seen a patch of flowers only a five minute walk from Norway's house and wanted to pick them all up for his father before it snowed and killed them all. He was bundled in a tight down jacket but still retained his blue hat, refusing to part with it for any reason. Seventy years of wearing that hat and there was no way he'd let his mother force it off his head, even for more appropriate headgear.

He hurried along, his breath ghosting before him in a cloud of white, his shoes thudding on the hard ground as he went. It'd just be a short trip, they were so busy in their meeting that they wouldn't even notice he had left. His gloved hands were still cold, but he persevered until he found the small clearing with a tiny patch of bright yellow flowers. Sealand grinned, excited, and began to carefully pull them one by one from the ground. He brushed the dirt from them carefully, wanting to preserve the flowers for his parents to decorate their house with.

Sealand was ready to be home, that was for sure. As much as he liked Uncle Denmark and Uncle Norway, the entire atmosphere was wearing him out. He was worried for Iceland just like the rest of them but a small, selfish part of him was simply ready to be home. Home where Sweden would tuck him into bed and Finland would tell him scary stories and Hanatamago would cuddle with him until he woke up the next morning, waiting for a day of adventure and happiness.

For a moment he stared at his hands, the flowers bunched tightly in his fists and sighed. He loved his family and it hurt him to see them so worried, and even though Uncle Norway didn't make a habit of openness to anyone expect perhaps Uncle Denmark, even Sealand could tell that this was tearing him apart. Who would do such a thing? Take Iceland away like that? Why would they do that when it hurt so many people close to him?

He sat down against a tree trunk, the icy atmosphere making him shiver slightly but he was not ready to be home yet. All he wanted for his family was absolute happiness and they couldn't even have that. A twig cracked behind him, and he spun to see a man in black before all was dark around him. A painful, rough edge tore at the flesh of his arm before he could feel nothing at all.


	5. ICELAND

**ICELAND**

He couldn't move.

That was the first thing that came to Iceland's mind as he groggily came to his senses, staring up at the ceiling through blurred eyes. The room was cold, though that's not something that could truly bother him. He tested his hands and felt that he could move his fingers a little bit.

While he was grateful he could move even that much, the rest of his body was in far too much pain to even consider budging from the makeshift slab that passed for a bed in this room. White bandages crisscrossed his chest, dots of red spotting them in various places. Where one was drawn back, meticulous stitches held his skin together. The sight made him want to vomit, so Iceland turned away, instead focusing on the tiny details he could make out in the poorly lit room. It was completely bare, he noted, not even a bathroom facility like the sort a criminal may find in a prison.

Though, he thought to himself dully, he doubted they performed unnecessary surgical procedures in prison either. He breathed deeply and let out a cry, the ache in his entire body almost too much to bear. Not to mention the fact that he was completely and utterly starving. He couldn't remember having even the smallest meal since he had woken up here and he ached, not for the first time, for home. For his family. Iceland bit back another cry, not wanting his captor to hear, not wanting to appear weak. But a question nagged at his mind.

How long was he expected to endure this.

"Number one." A voice sounded at the tiny, rectangular window in the steel door and Iceland knew the voice that spoke. Whoever it was never referred to him in any other fashion, just 'number one.' He grunted in response, his throat dry and croaky from disuse. How long had something other than muffled screaming escaped from his mouth? "I am coming in to check vitals. It will not move or attempt to escape or it will be very sorry." Iceland grunted again; it was not like he could escape anyway. Not in this condition.

The cell door swung smoothly open as the sheltered figure entered. They had a large pair of goggles obstructing the dark view of their face and Iceland could not make out any defining features about them. Man or woman? Age? Race? He didn't know. Their voice spoke in perfect Icelandic and he wondered if the person here was one of his own or simply had an insane grasp of languages. Iceland was poked and prodded by cold instruments and heard the scratching of a pencil on a pad of paper every so often. He said nothing, knowing his words were futile and besides, he was still alive so perhaps good behavior will help him remain that way.

"It has lost weight," the voice murmured suddenly, causing Iceland to roll his eyes in one final show of defiance. It was all he could do, really, considering a large percentage of his body was held together with prayers and glorified dental floss. The figure appeared to have caught the gesture and began to madly scribble on his pad of paper. "Still aware of surroundings, it understands speech patters and even, surprisingly, sarcasm is evident in its behavior." Iceland felt like a lab rat and suddenly a realization hit him that he was, in fact, just that.

The note taking? The surgeries? The constant barrage of testing? Someone was experimenting on him. The realization struck him a hard blow to the chest and he felt his heart start to pound uncontrollably. Panic. He was panicking in a situation where such a reaction could cost you everything. A low beep sounded above his head and the person clicked their tongue. "It needs to go back to sleep." They readjusted a tube Iceland noticed was hooked to the needle in the back of his hand. He whined softly but the person did not respond and soon, all was dark.

When Iceland awoke again, it was bright. Too bright. His pale flesh was nearly luminescent in the glare and he realized with astute clarity that he was most definitely naked. He pressed his lips into a line and tried to remain on the most important task: discovering where he was. Any sort of indication would be key. He couldn't really turn his head around, but he noted there was no windows to speak of, just like in his cell. Just the pale blinding fluorescent lighting and the smell of sterile metal, almost like a hospital. This person know what they were doing, that is for sure.

"Number two appears to have the same internal anatomy as a human woman and it responds in the same fashion to general anesthetic. It is safely asleep and I will begin the procedure." Iceland vaguely wondered if he were even supposed to be awake right then, until he realized what the person had said. Number two? Woman? He wanted to struggle against the bindings, to be strong enough to help whoever else had been captured, to save them from this hell he was gong through. Who was it? Taiwan? Hungary? Liechtenstein? His brain was too muddled to think properly of who else he knew.

Time passed agonizingly slow, though Iceland couldn't be sure how much time was passing. Minutes, hours, all he did was lay there in a half dead stupor, his entire body aching incessantly. God, he wished he could help whoever was being subjected to this, even if it cost him his own well being and any chance of escape he could have possibly had. But there was nothing to be done for it. At least not immediately, and he let te kidnappers voice fade into the background, certain that if he got out of here, the sound would haunt him for the rest of his life.

A door opened, and a set of footsteps entered that were too heavy to have been the kidnapper's and Iceland listened carefully to them. He hadn't realized there were more people here and he decided he could possible use the knowledge to his advantage somehow. "Doctor." It was a tenor voice belonging to a man, though he could tell the person sounded incredibly uneasy. "We have the child, like you requested." A whimper sounded and Iceland's blood froze in his views. Slowly he turned his head towards the voices, somehow knowing what he was going to see but hoping it wasn't going to end up this way.

It was a mop of blond hair framing a round face, innocent blue eyes red from tears that had long since stopped streaming down his face. There was a trail of blood dripping from his temple down his chin, sending such a fit or rage through Iceland he could barely manage to bite back a scream of protest. Sealand was gripping his spotted white shirt, terror in his eyes, and turned around once to look around the room.

Their eyes met inevitably and Sealand's expression changed so dramatically in less than a second, his skin tinging green. "Iceland!" he screamed, breaking away from the man wearing black combat gear and rushing to his side. "Iceland what did they do to you?" Tears fell anew from Sealand's eyes and Iceland felt as though the Doctor was ripping out his heart. His mouth opened to speak but the words wouldn't come; his disused throat refusing to form anything other than a muffled cry.

Run, he tried to scream. Go, run, get out of here and forget about me! But the sounds wouldn't come and Sealand wouldn't stop crying and the Doctor wouldn't stop laughing gleefully. "It is showing concern for another of its kind!" He pulled out a camera and began to document the situation at hand, the trail of Sealand's tears and the tears in Iceland's skin and the way that Sealand wouldn't let go of Iceland's hand.

The man wouldn't stop laughing.


End file.
